


Summoning Circle

by Corvid_Knight



Series: Fangsverse [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Demon Summoning, Gen, Implied Bullying/Abuse, because i'm hilarious, cal is a demon, fangsverse, note: it's actually reaux strider and ambrose lalonde, when they get married they just. swap last names and don't undo it when they separate again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:35:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27886096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corvid_Knight/pseuds/Corvid_Knight
Summary: In Ambrose's hands, the puppet shifts. Just slightly, yeah, but it's. It's movement he's not directing, movement that serves to turn the thing's head towards you so you can be fully regarded by those glassy blue eyes. Shit. You didn't think you were afraid of puppets before this, but you might need to reconsider that.D and Reaux do something helpful for their best friend.
Series: Fangsverse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2041873
Comments: 8
Kudos: 30





	Summoning Circle

Yeah, this probably isn't your most stunningly brilliant idea ever. Anything that involves someone else sitting in the middle of a painstakingly-drawn geometric chalk circle is automatically suspect, and when it's the neighbor kid who's sort of ended up with you as his main protector and pseudo-adult despite the fact you're two fucking years older than him? 

Sketchy. Sketchy as fuck, especially since Ambrose has that blank look that's his equivalent of tears. You really wish he wasn't in the middle of the circle, but he flat out refused to back away from his weird puppet doll that his parents or one of the shitty wannabe bullies or _someone_ he's come in contact with took a violent disliking to, and you may be the wrong side of thirteen but you still know when to cut your losses when it comes to arguing with him. At some point, you just shrugged and went back to drawing around him, checking Reaux's book every so often. 

This was your sister's idea, really. Using magic. You're just the one in charge of the technical half—you love Reaux, but she can't draw a straight line to save her life. Maybe it's just because she's a year younger than you, maybe she traded artistic aptitude for her freaky ability to pick up languages; either way, you're not going to argue. As long as _you_ don't have to try to read out the weird mix of Aramaic, Latin, and whatever the hell uses Cyrillic, you're not going to complain. 

Russian. Russian uses Cyrillic. You wonder how long the Russian language has been around. Longer than the document that Reaux found scanned and reproduced online, maybe, but then again maybe not. It _clearly_ said "undated text" in the description, after all, and historians gotta know what they're talking about when they say they don't know what they're talking about. Or something. Which begs the question, how did Reaux even get access to the kind of site frequented by historians? 

Stupid question. You glance up at the kid who's the answer to it, and catch him staring down at the puppet-doll's shattered head, fingers digging into the soft body like enough pressure will be able to fix it. God damn it, that's the exact opposite of what letting your mind go on autopilot is supposed to accomplish—the sick feeling that started when Ambrose hauled himself into your bedroom window and held the thing out to show you like he thought you'd have some kind of fix for this shitshow is back again, strong enough that you have to lift the chalk away from concrete for a second. He's _hurting_ , maybe as bad as if it'd been _his_ head cracked open, and you kind of feel like a shitty person for letting it happen. Even if he's not related to you, you still call him bro two times out of three, and what kind of big brother lets that happen? 

Instead of answering that, you bite your lip and carefully add the last two lines—one to connect the fifth and eighth points, and then one between the fourth and second. Ambrose is sitting on the smooth concrete slab that's going to be under a shed in the near future, in the center of a many-pointed string trap of a star inside as close to a perfect circle as you could freehand, all drawn in the reddest chalk you could scrounge up. 

You wish it was paint. The fact that Reaux translated the instructions as _blood_ , suggested _paint_ , and ended up with _chalk_...it makes you nervous. Like it's not going to be enough to catch the attention of whatever's supposed to hear her request and fix what's been broken. Or like it'll catch the attention of something else. 

"D." Reaux smacks your shoulder with her sheaf of hand-written notes and pictures printed off the library's computer for a quarter a page. If you were still working on the circle you would have just had to start over. "Stop thinking." 

" _Over_ thinking, Reaux." You duck away and make a face at her, tossing the chalk at her face; you miss, sure, but so does her grab for it. "You want me to stop overthinking. If I just up and stopped thinking—" 

"—everything would suck, I know." She rolls her eyes and bends to scoop up the chalk from the end point of its ill-fated parabola, offering it to you again. "Need this?" 

You consider the circle. Take one of the papers out of her other hand just to double check—can't be too careful when you're fucking around with this kind of shit, after all—and shake your head as you hand it back. "Nah, I think we're as close to aces as we're gonna get. You got that incantation all ready?" 

"Very much so." Reaux gives you one of those sweet smiles that means she's super duper nervous, rearranging her papers and checking the order of them one more time before motioning you back from the intricate network of lines. As little as you want to cooperate with that, you do anyway; as soon as your feet hit patchy grass, she looks down and starts reading. 

None of it sounds like words. Worse—none of it sounds like _Reaux_. It doesn't sound like your sister reciting something in a language you don't know, it sounds like a.stranger—maybe one not quite human—imitating what words sound like when heard through some kind of barrier. Like there's registers missing, extra tones above and below. Something very fucking _wrong_. 

You last maybe a minute. Then you can't take it any longer and slam the heels of your hands over your ears, pressing down hard and biting back a groan when that only blocks maybe...half of the sounds. The lesser half, too—the half that's Reaux, the half that's purely audible—

As you realize that the reason you're still hearing the shit you're hearing is because it's in your head instead of in your ears, the incantation cuts itself off. Through the shield of your hands you hear Reaux spit out a couple cuss words that your parents would be shocked to find out she knows; that's muffled as fuck, of course. 

The other voice isn't. 

**Oooh. Oops.**

"The _fuck_?" Alright. Hands down. Head up and shoulders back too, since you apparently hunched over and tucked your head down at some point. Not that you can really blame yourself, with the memory of that godawful noise still that fresh. "Uh—sis, I'm not totally sure—" 

"Be _quiet_ , D." She gets that out between teeth clenched so tightly that you sort of worry about the next dentist's appointment; the papers in her hands are crushed, wadded into tight little balls that just keep getting tighter as her fists clench. "I have eyes." 

**Very nice eyes!**

In Ambrose's hands, the puppet shifts. Just slightly, yeah, but it's. It's movement he's not directing, movement that serves to turn the thing's head towards you so you can be fully regarded by those glassy blue eyes. Shit. You didn't think you were afraid of puppets before this, but you might need to reconsider that. 

**Hmmm.** If the thing could frown, you think it'd be doing that now. **...Ambrose, right? I need an eensy-weensy favor from you. Just a little one.**

"Bro—" It's half a warning at best, but it's all you can get out. Ambrose looks over at you, frowns, and shrugs a bit as he tips his head back down to the puppet. You can't quite hear his mumbled reply, but you're nowhere near as close as the one who's actually asking something of him. 

**Oooh, no—nothing _bad_ , don't worry! I just need you to put me down and go to...her? I don't know names that aren't yours, not yet. But _you_ go to _her_ , and then _he_ comes in here for a nice little chat, okay?**

"Bro—" You cut yourself off there, because while you're wary as fuck over following the directions of a demon, that's...pretty much exactly what you want him to do anyway. What're you going to do, tell him to _stay_ in the circle? He's not the possessed one here. 

Reaux has an actual valid instruction for him, though. "Don't step on the chalk," she tells him, and Ambrose nods and oh-so-carefully sets the puppet on the ground, taking a minute longer than he absolutely needs to to get it situated before he hops from one patch of clear concrete to another and lands on bare dirt and patchy grass. 

The puppet shifts to watch as Reaux battens onto him in a hug tight enough to make them both gasp. You'd join in, but after a second you can feel the thing's painted eyes on _you_. Shit. Bad. 

**Ooh, someone's wary of demons! That's okay, most people are. You're smart!** And, less playfully: **And you're not going to like what comes next, because I'm going to ask you to come in here and have a nice private talk. Your hands drew me into this place, and you need to decide whether you're going to send me _right_ back out.**

"You want me to banish you?" You keep your voice under a whisper, no sibilants for your sister to pick up on. Can't have her hearing and making the decision for you, after all—you love Reaux, but once she's made up her mind there's no stopping her. "Seriously? It's that fucking easy?" 

**Mm-hm, if it has to be! But you need to understand what you've started before you choose to stop it, and for that—**

"Yeah, yeah, I get it." You need to be in the circle. Easier said than done, if you don't want to smudge the chalk—your legs aren't quite long enough to reach to the center in one go, and you lack the quick innate choreography that Ambrose uses to hit the tiny mark of bare concrete perfectly the first time. You have to stand there and consider for a short but extant moment, which means Reaux notices and lets go of Ambrose fast enough to grab at your arm. 

She misses, thankfully. You take the second step and stop in the center of the circle, back to your sister as you stare down at the puppet. "Let me guess—if I want you gone, I have to break Cal again." 

**Ew. Gross. Disgusting.** The painted face can't actually form expressions, but you get the feeling it's grimacing anyway. **That's _blackmail_. Who's been teaching you about blackmail?**

"Uh." Huh. Not the reaction you expected. 

**Even if that was the way to go about it—which it's _not_ , horrible, such a human solution—you couldn't possibly do it in front of the little one. Wasn't the first order of business for me to repair this vessel? Making him see it be shattered again would be pointless. _And_ cruel.**

"Aren't you a demon?" 

**Very much so. But I'm not _mean_.** The puppet shifts slightly; you're just a lil' bit surprised to find yourself assuming that the motion has something to do with discomfort. Can it even feel things right now? **Can you pick me up? This is a weird position to be in for a serious conversation.**

Hm. That's. There's probably a reason you shouldn't do that.

You do it anyway, leaning down to scoop up the puppet with both hands under the long, floppy arms. It feels pretty damn limp in your hands; you can't really help imagining how it'll feel if the thing _does_ move. Bad thought. "Dude, are you going to look me in the face and tell me _this_ isn't just as weird?" 

The damn thing giggles. It's not as disturbing a sound as you expected. **At least we see eye to eye now! It's an improvement.**

"If you say so. Weren't you planning on telling me what you think you're here for?" 

**Well.** The soft body twitches slightly in your hands, something like a shrug. **_You_ wanted the doll fixed.**

"It's a puppet." 

**Puppets have _strings_ , excuse you.**

"Yeah, well, Cal doesn't." No, you don't know why. It's Ambrose's most prized possession, and that's good enough for you. "Do you have, like, a point?" 

**Ohhhh, that thing. Yes! I protect. Desire for protection draws me in—children are good at this kind of summoning, or parents. Mother to daughter, father to son, big sibling to younger one—you've managed it without blood or legality, though, congratulations! You are _loving_. Or maybe loyal. It gets confusing when I look too closely; humans tie up emotions and traits like straw in a basket. Do humans still make straw baskets? I'm not sure when the last time I had a body was.**

You're pretty sure this is what you're like when you're sleep deprived. "You don't do too good with focusing, huh?" 

Another little shrug. Again, it's not as unnerving as you expected. **It takes a while to settle into a body.**

"...yeah." 

**Are you going to give me that time, or...?**

Dammit. You should think this through. You should talk to Reaux. You should figure out what the pros and cons are, weigh them, work out whether—

You step back across the lines of the circle, not bothering to avoid the chalk. Reaux glares at you as your shoes scuff a couple; you very deliberately look at Ambrose instead, holding Cal out to him. The look on his face is...well. Kinda painful. Relief implies fear in equal and opposite measure, and the amount of relief on his face as he takes the puppet from you is damn near unspeakable. 

"You need to keep us up to date on what it says to you," Reaux says as Ambrose settles Cal over his shoulders with the long arms across his chest. (You can't help but watch with fascination as the hands clasp together like they actually have the magnets you've offered to add.) "Demons aren't always—"

"It says it's a protector, sis," you point out. 

"D, dearest, you're an idiot. Demons also _lie_ , as I'm sure you know." 

**She's right! Don't trust unless you're _sure._**

"Dude, she's _way_ more likely to just smash you out of hand than I am, trust me." As soon as you say it, you regret it—Ambrose flinches hard, taking a step back. 

The look on Reaux's face hurts just as bad as his reaction, though. "I wouldn't," she says—it's almost a whisper. "Ambrose, you know I wouldn't." 

He nods, one hand coming up to wrap around one of the puppet's arms. "Not Cal." 

**Ooh, that's my name? I like it. Short and to the point with _lots_ of potential.** The demon giggles in your head again; Reaux grimaces and Ambrose smiles just a lil' bit. **Come on, little bro. You're hungry, and I'd like to have a nice chat with the jerk who broke your puppet...that is, if your two protectors will let me!**

Ambrose raises an eyebrow at you. Just one; you're still irritated that he and your sister can pull that off and you can't. Not that that's relevant here—you nod and wave him away, smothering a grin as he gives you a thumb's-up and turns to squeeze through the fence boards that you un-nailed a while back to make this kind of thing easier. 

You watch him go and then turn to find Reaux watching _you_. Well, shit. 

But all she does is sigh, after a second, and step in to lean against you, shoulder against your shoulder. "So how badly did we just fuck up?" 

"Eh, I dunno. I've got an okay feeling about this."

"You had an okay feeling about dying your hair with Kool-Aid last year too, and we all saw how _that_ went." 

"Hey, it came out bright, didn't it?" 

"D, you'd still be pink if I hadn't figured out how to bleach it back." 

"Yeah, so it worked out fine." 

Reaux groans and smacks you, gently. "Stop being an optimistic dick when I'm being _realistic_ —" 

"Hey, when you figure out magic to give me one I'll stop being one, promise." You flash her your sweetest grin and pull away, trying to remember where the garden hose was hooked up last. "Now come on, we have to get this chalk up before someone comes out and raises holy fucking hell." 

"I do love it when you out-practical me." 

"Yeah, I know. First one to find the hose gets a free spray?"

"Oh, you're on."


End file.
